


Damn Him

by Cassy27



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: First Time, John has always loved Laszlo, John's POV, M/M, Oneshot, handjob, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/pseuds/Cassy27
Summary: 'Laszlo was an odd figure and it had taken John a long time to figure him out, but now he liked to assume that he knew the alienist, that he was in fact his closest friend, because he understood him, because he had figured him out. Partially at least – which was more than others could say.'After recklessly kissing Laszlo, John would like nothing more than to forget about the whole ordeal. Laszlo, however, has different ideas.





	Damn Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing something for the amazing series that is The Alienist. I instantly fell in love with John and Laszlo, and I wanted to share my love for them with all of you. I hope you'll enjoy this oneshot.

# 1

When John crossed the threshold of the Institute, the door falling shut behind him with a soft click of the lock, it felt as if he was finally able to leave the whole world outside and forget about all the evil that resided in it. It had been a stressful couple of months, but tonight he could finally let it all go. Tonight, he would finally be able to sleep well, knowing that their child-murderer was dead and that Joseph and every other boy in the city was safe. Or safer, at least.

His entire body ached and his head was pounding, but John could easily push that aside, instead focusing on the man before him. Laszlo had gone through much these past few weeks, had suffered tremendously after Mary’s unfortunate death, but at least now he would be able to put it all to rest as well, because Mary’s murderer was dead, too, thanks to Sara. John followed Laszlo further inside and watched him turn to lean against the edge of the table, head hanging low. He looked tired – no, he looked worse than that. He looked beaten down, broken, which was not what John had expected. Exhaustion, surely, but also relief and a sense of pride, because they had figured it out before the police had, but none of those sentiments lined Laszlo’s face. Instantly concerned, John closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concern apparent in his voice, but there came no reaction. “Laszlo?”

Only then did Laszlo’s gaze rise to meet his. He smiled faintly, almost sadly, and then sighed, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Can you believe it is finally over?” When he was tired, his accent thickened, reminding John that Kreizler wasn’t born in America.

“Yes,” John said, “I can believe it.” Laszlo was an odd figure and it had taken John a long time to figure him out, but now he liked to assume that he knew the alienist, that he was in fact his closest friend, because he understood him, because he had figured him out. Partially at least – which was more than others could say. Laszlo liked to behave aloof, arrogant and haughty even, because he was determined to create a certain distance between himself and the rest of the world, but John wasn’t fooled anymore. He knew Laszlo could be surprisingly sensitive and caring. The way he looked after his patients was proof enough of that, but not everyone could see that. Laszlo had always wanted to shield himself, protect himself against a cruel world, against himself, but John had become an exception. Or so he liked to believe.

“Let me look at that cut,” John said and, without waiting for approval, John’s fingers treaded through Laszlo’s dark hair, so he could tilt his head back a little, but his attention was instantly drawn to Laszlo’s lips when a soft sigh escaped them. Laszlo’s eyes had closed, too, and John found himself struck by the softness of his face in that moment, the tranquillity of his expression.

Instead of focusing on the cut near Laszlo’s temple, John’s fingers brushed down the side of Laszlo’s face, his thumb then sliding across his lower lip. Laszlo’s lips parted, sucking in a surprised breath, and when his eyes opened, John was no longer capable of controlling himself. Without thinking, without considering any possible consequences, he closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together. His tongue flicked out to lick at Laszlo’s mouth, begging him to allow him entrance, desperate for the kiss to be returned, and when it was, when Laszlo’s tongue met his in a moment of innocent, irresistible, and unruly passion, John moaned and felt his knees goes weak.

Laszlo’s legs parted and John moved to stand in between them. Their bodies were pressed together where they stood leaning against the table, and still it felt like there was too much distance between them, too much air. John snuck an arm around Laszlo’s waist, pulling him even closer, and let his other hand slip down Laszlo’s neck, nails dragging down skin.

John didn’t know what he was doing exactly, wasn’t in control of anything he did, which was so terribly unlike him – or was it? When pushing Laszlo back, wishing to have him lay down on the table, between the dozens of papers and pencils and crayons, Laszlo suddenly cried out, his head falling back, and John jumped away, his eyes wide and frantic, and his chest heaving.

Laszlo reached for his shoulder – or was it his upper arm?

“Laszlo?” John felt too startled to step forward again.

“It’s alright,” Laszlo groaned, pain lining his face. His knuckles where white from clasping his arm so tightly. “I just need…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but instead lowered his gaze and hid his face behind his hand. “I’m sorry, John.”

Right. Of course. John straightened his back and cleared his throat, never having been the kind of person to allow anyone to beat him down. Certainly not Laszlo. And certainly not now. He had been foolish, yes, he had made a terrible mistake, but he wasn’t going to leave the Institute with his tail between his legs. He wasn’t the kind of man to run.

Or was he?

“I’ll go find someone,” he said.

“John–”

“It’s alright, Laszlo.” John was already heading towards the exit, uninterested in hearing the alienist spout pathetic excuses at him in a vain attempt to save their friendship. Honestly, it surprised John that Laszlo deemed it worth saving. “We both need rest after so many long days and after so many gruesome nights.”

This could just be another nightmare added to the already existing pile.

“John, please–”

John didn’t hear what Laszlo had to say, didn’t want to hear it, because perhaps Laszlo was the one person in this world who _could_ beat him down. And perhaps Laszlo was the one person in this world who _could_ have him scurry away with his tail between his legs. Dammit, this wasn’t the kind of person John had wished to become, but truly, he didn’t deem it his own fault.

Damn that alienist and his always so composed air.

Damn that alienist altogether.

# 2

Two days later, the telephone rang, scaring his grandmother half to death as always. Their maid answered, announced it was Dr. Kreizler and that he wished to speak to John, but John declined the call, coming up with a random excuse of being in the process of reading a very interesting article in the newspaper. Yes, it was a feeble excuse, one that even had his grandmother raise her eyebrows at him, but he ignored her with ease and continued to stare at an uninteresting article about a carriage-accident downtown while _not_ thinking about Laszlo.

Four days later, a letter came. John instantly recognized the handwriting – the doctor had a surprisingly elegant style – and took the letter with him to his room where he dropped it onto his nightstand without opening it. He stared at it every evening, but never found the courage to read it.

He just wasn’t interested in discussing the … incident. He wasn’t interested in having his actions dissected by the alienist. It would without doubt lead them to his past, which was something he liked to avoid talking about altogether. Besides, there was nothing to be said about their … kiss. It had been a mistake and they should let it rest in the past. Like so many other things.

John stared out of the window, onto the street where people were going about their daily business. None of them had probably made such a monumental mistake as he had.

The kiss hadn’t even meant anything. Just a heat of the moment sort of thing. They had just caught a child-murderer, had almost died in the process, had fought for their lives… Adrenaline had coursed through his veins, had made his mind hazy and his muscles tense. Honestly, he could not be held responsible for his actions that evening, so no, he wasn’t going to let Laszlo dissect every single one of his thoughts on the matter.

When Laszlo came by a week later, John hurried outside through the back door. He heard their maid call out his name, heard her say Dr. Kreizler was there to see him, but John remained hidden behind a thick, old tree like a scared and silly thirteen-year-old boy. He knew he couldn’t hide from Laszlo forever, knew that his grandmother would soon start to ask questions about his odd behaviour, and he would deal with that when the time came, but for now he liked to avoid the alienist a bit longer. Just a few more days. Or weeks. However long he could do this.

Damn that alienist and his stubborn perseverance.

# 3

“You look lovely, Granny,” John smiled.

His grandmother’s back straightened and her shoulders squared. The corners of her lips tugged upwards ever so slightly, because while she would never admit it, she enjoyed it when her grandson complimented her. She liked to assume an authoritarian air, stern and tough, but when it came to John, her heart could melt, even though she would never admit to that.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” His grandmother inquired.

“To the Opera?” John chuckled. “No, but thank you.”

“Oh well.” His grandmother checked her scarf one final time and then left, leaving John alone in the house, with only the maid for company. Although Sofie wasn’t actually good company. She kept to her room whenever her services weren’t required, which was what was expected of maids, but for once John didn’t mind. He looked forward to a quiet evening.

He already had everything planned. First dinner, then perhaps he could put on some music his grandmother detested, read a good book, _not_ think about Laszlo too much – dammit. His mind swirled towards the alienist at every given opportunity, which he detested just about as much as his grandmother detested Victor Herbert’s music. Which was a lot.

It would be difficult not to drink tonight.

John made a mental note to ask Sofie to store away all liquor.

His plans actually went well. Dinner was exceptionally delicious this evening – perhaps because his grandmother wasn’t around to nag about every little detail of the meal she disliked, whether it be too little or too much gravy – and he actually managed to lose himself in a book Sara had recommended a few weeks ago when the doorbell rang. He thought little of it, had given the maid specific instructions not to let anyone in, so when footsteps approached, he expected Sofie to stand in the doorway to tell him who she’d just turned away, only to find a short man with a beard, a hat, and a well-tailored suit standing there.

John very nearly dropped his book.

“Hello, John,” Laszlo said. He removed his hat, placing it aside, and folded his hands together around his walking cane.

“Laszlo,” was all John could utter.

“I hope you’ll forgive Sofie for disobeying your orders,” Laszlo said. He appeared at ease, laid-back, oh-so casual, and John hated him for it, because as he stood there and John was seated, he felt his heart hammer against his ribcage. It felt as if madness slowly took over every cell of his body. “She was kind enough to grant us some privacy.”

“You gave my maid the evening off?” John asked. His fingers were clenched tightly around his book.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied calmly.

“How did you know my grandmoth–?” He stopped himself when he realised the truth of the situation and he wasn’t planning on making a fool of himself. Not again. “You gave her the tickets to the Opera.”

“I know how much you hate it.” Laszlo looked smug. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls.”

John nodded. “I’ve been busy.”

It was difficult to stay in control, to weigh each word in his mind before actually saying it, knowing Laszlo would dissect it in return. It was even more difficult to read the alienist, because the man was infuriatingly efficient at concealing his true thoughts and feelings. It was something he’d learned as a young child rather than as a doctor as Laszlo claimed, and he did it always, even when around John. It was more than bothersome.

“My letters?”

John smiled with his lips tightly pressed together. “Again, busy.”

“We must speak of what happened, John.” Laszlo put aside his cane and stepped into the living room. It was dimly lit, only candles burning in strategic places, and the way the light illuminated Laszlo’s face sent shivers down John’s spine. There was no denying Laszlo was a handsome man, and the way he held himself, tall despite his height, strong despite his disability, was nothing short of attractive. John’s heart skipped a beat when Laszlo smiled at him – actually smiled, warm and sincere, kind and with fondness. He didn’t often smile like that.

“I was delirious,” John lied. “The intensity of that evening had muddled my mind.”

“I wish you hadn’t run away.”

“I didn’t _run away_ ,” John echoed, offended.

Laszlo took a seat in his grandmother’s chair – she would be shocked to the core if she were here – and carefully placed his right hand in his lap, his face contorting for a moment, his shoulder clearly still bothering him, and for a moment John wanted to approach him and help him, support him, ask him if he needed anything against the pain, a drink perhaps, but he kept himself in check.

“Have you had your shoulder checked out?” He asked instead.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied. “It just needs time to heal.”

“Thank God we don’t have to chase after child-murderers every other week.”

“Yes, thank God.” Laszlo smiled again, more to himself this time. Timid and composed. “Have you seen Joseph since?”

Sweet and young Joseph. The lad had lived through too much already considering his age, which was sad, because there was no telling where it would lead the boy in life. John didn’t know why he took to him. Perhaps because he recognised himself in him, having lived through different traumas himself? Perhaps for no other reason than pity? John didn’t know.

“I offered to pay for an education, but he declined.”

Laszlo hummed. “It’s difficult changing one’s ways when they’ve been living a certain way for so long already.” He gazed deep into John’s eyes, which made it all too clear he wasn’t just talking about Joseph, but once again, John kept himself in check, refused to react, refused to give into the argument Laszlo oh-so obviously wanted to ignite. “But he’s still young, so there’s hope for him.”

“I know.” John was finally able to loosen his grip on the book and put it aside. His fingers were cramping with how tightly he’d held onto it. “I won’t give up on him.”

“I expect nothing else from you,” Laszlo replied.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me–” John rose to his feet, flattened non-existing creases from his shirt, and cleared his throat, “–I planned to go to bed early tonight. I would ask Sofie to escort you outside, but since you gave her the evening off, you’ll–”

“You kissed me, John,” Laszlo interrupted. He, too, stood and, as always, he had to look up at John to meet his eyes, and yet, as always, he managed to be the one to look down at him. It was a particularly irritating skill of his. One of many, it seemed. “I wish to discuss that.”

“I don’t.”

“John–”

“You don’t grant me any dignity, do you?” John burst suddenly. Anger swept through his veins like a heat, boiling his blood, and his hands ached to grab Laszlo’s shoulders, to shake him, to shut him up, to hurt Laszlo for hurting him, to kiss him and wreck him. “Yes, I kissed you. Do you now wish to discuss the mental depravity that resides behind homosexual tendencies?”

“John–”

“I know it is unnatural, Laszlo,” John continued. His voice was too loud to his own liking, but he couldn’t prevent himself from shouting the words. It wasn’t so much that he wanted Laszlo to hear them loudly and clearly. No, he needed to hear himself say this, admit this, know this. “I know it is a morbid and vile attraction to have, but have you ever considered the possibility that I did not want this attraction to exist within me?”

“John, will you please–”

“If my grandmother were to ever find out, I would be thrown on the streets and–”

“John!”

Laszlo all but threw himself forward, throwing an arm around John’s neck, and slammed their lips together. There was a moment where everything seemed to freeze, where the whole world seemed to stop existing, a moment where John felt obliterated by the sheer force of Laszlo’s presence, and then time continued and his heart began to beat again.

John kissed him back, lips parting and tongue eager to explore Laszlo’s mouth, because what else could he do? Resist his urges, pull away, and forever loathe himself for not having taken this opportunity?

Although it was not an opportunity in the strict sense of the word, because Laszlo was the one to – oh, _shut up_. John willed his mind to quiet down and focus instead on Laszlo’s hand running through his hair. John’s hands grabbed hold of Laszlo’s vest, pulling him as close as physically possible, and tilted his head sideways ever so slightly, to deepen their kiss, to allow Laszlo better entrance, and John moaned at the feeling of Laszlo’s tongue flicking against his own.

Removing Laszlo’s vest proved difficult with Laszlo’s hands continuously running up and down his chest – his left more so than his right – and once it had fallen to the floor, John was faced with another challenge; Laszlo’s shirt. There were too many buttons and, frustrated with the slowing pace, he simply ripped them all off, uncaring of Laszlo’s disapproving grunt. Or perhaps that grunt meant something else entirely. John didn’t know. He decided he was done trying to understand his best friend. No, not best friend. His lover.

His _lover_. What a nice ring it had.

When Laszlo’s shirt slid to the floor, the alienist suddenly pulled away, head turned away, eyes closed, and for a moment John was dumbfounded, thought he’d done something terribly wrong, just like last time, but then Laszlo reached for his thin arm, and John realised the truth. Had he ever seen Laszlo’s disability before? Yes, numerous of times really. But never like this. Never so … exposed.

How naked Laszlo must feel in this moment despite still being half dressed.

“Laszlo,” John breathed, drawing the man’s attention back to him. When those hazel brown eyes were back on him, John undressed himself, slowly, wanting the alienist to see every single movement that he made, wanting him to observe the way his muscles strained and wanting him to long for him.

Once he stood naked, as naked as he’d been on the day he was born, John swallowed heavily as he felt Laszlo’s gaze take him in, study every detail of his body as it was, with all its imperfections. Because not everyone had a faulty arm like the doctor, but everyone did have insecurities. It was human nature.

“You are a very beautiful man, John,” Laszlo said.

“Are you simply going to stand there and look at me?” John questioned. In a fit of boldness, or utter madness – John honestly could never tell the difference when it came to the doctor – he curled his fingers around his length and slowly stroked himself. He knew how he appeared; tall and confident, completely in control, but the truth was far from that. With just one word, Laszlo could destroy him if he wanted to. With just one act, Laszlo could have him come undone entirely, for better or for worse.

“Oh, John,” Laszlo breathed, and closed the distance between them once against.

Their kiss was different this time. Less wild, more passionate. As Laszlo took John’s length in hand, stroking him at such a pace that drove John insane, John pushed Laszlo’s trousers down his hips, freeing his erection and taking him in hand as well. It was as if they couldn’t be close enough, as if each half of an inch was too much. With their legs entangled, they lost their balance and fell, John landing on his back with Laszlo on top of him. The only reason they hadn’t hurt themselves was the fancy, thick carpet beneath them.  

If his grandmother were to see him now – no, now was definitely not the time to be thinking of her.

Laszlo straddled John’s hips and leaned down, once again claiming John’s lips. His hair fell before his eyes in the process, and John couldn’t help but think this was the first time he was witnessing Laszlo unravel before his eyes, come undone at the seams. He wanted to reach up and brush the lock of hair back again, but that would mean he either needed to let go of Laszlo’s cock or stop squeezing Laszlo’s thigh, and neither was an option at the moment.

It wasn’t fair that the alienist was so good at stroking him, that he seemed to know exactly what to do to have John squirm beneath him. Was he that easy? Or did Laszlo just know him that well? John smiled at the latter thought.

“What?” Laszlo asked. His voice sounded deep and husky.

“Nothing, just…” John was gasping for air now. He was close to finding release, and oh what a beautiful picture it would be to see his cum all over Laszlo’s hand. He’d dreamed of this, had fantasized about this plenty of times in the privacy of his bedroom, but now that it was actually happening, John’s chest felt too weak to contain his heart.

“Please don’t stop.” He was well aware of how desperate he sounded.

When Laszlo’s thumb flicked across the slit of his cock, John came, every muscle in his body spasming. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered shut. He would have screamed Laszlo’s name, but he lacked the air in his lungs to do so. Laszlo pumped him through his orgasm, the same rhythm John used to stroke the alienist to his completion, and the warm feeling of Laszlo’s seed on his stomach had John groan. He would have tasted it if he could.

Another time perhaps.

With his muscles suddenly lacking strength, Laszlo rolled off John and laid down on the carpet as well, on his back, gazing up at the high ceiling. The only sound audible in the room was that of their laboured breathing. It positively stank of sex. _It was perfect_ , John thought with a smile.

“I did not actually mean for that to happen,” Laszlo said after a short silence. “Ich beschuldige dich.“

John didn’t hear Laszlo speak German often, but when he did, he loved it. His smile grew, lighting up his face, and John made a mental note to ask Laszlo to speak German more often. “Then what did you want to happen?” He asked as he rolled onto his side and let his head rest onto his hand.

“For us to talk,” Laszlo said.

“There’s plenty of time still to talk,” John laughed softly. He pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced down at the alienist, his gaze moving from Laszlo’s messy hair, to his heaving chest, to his sticky abdomen, to his now-flaccid cock. Laszlo Kreizler was a beautiful man, even if he didn’t see it for himself.

“We should get dressed before either Sofie or my grandmother return,” John said.

“Yes,” Laszlo nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position as well. “We wouldn’t want you tossed out onto the streets.” He brushed his hair back and laughed softly. “Though I dare to assume there are many things your grandmother could forgive you. She is very fond of you. And of me.” He sounded ridiculously pleased about that fact.

“Is that why you came?” John leaned forward and kissed him again, gently this time, just a peck on the lips. “To discuss my grandmother’s fondness of you?”

“No,” Laszlo replied. He reached up and brushed a hand down the side of John’s face, softly. Sweetly. “I came to discuss my fondness of you.” They kissed again, as if they had been kissing each other since the dawn of time itself, the act carefree, tender, and easy.

Damn that alienist, John thought to himself.

Just damn him.


End file.
